


Rationality

by writergirl8



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark, F/M, I don't know what happened here, Stiles is violent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6542065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8/pseuds/writergirl8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had killed rationally once. </p><p>Today, when he lets the head of the gun press against Shrader’s temple, he feels the lull of irrationality pulling at him. He wishes, desperately, that he wasn’t so curious for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rationality

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a brief, dark drabble that I wrote for Stydia secret santa and I wanted to get it off of my google drive. Happier times to come on the me front. After reading a legion of angsty fanfiction lately, I am in need of some good, solid fluff. My next fic will involve pie and Dirty Dancing. 
> 
> There's a small implication in here that Lydia may have been sexually assaulted by the guy in Eichen. Not big enough to tag it as a trigger, I just wanted you to be aware.

Stiles had killed rationally once.

 

Today, when he lets the head of the gun press against Shrader’s temple, he feels the lull of irrationality pulling at him. He wishes, desperately, that he wasn’t so curious for it. Because he’s got an itchy finger on the trigger of the gun that he hasn’t stopped carrying around for months, and Lydia is backed against the wall, ready to fling a scream from her throat the moment he needs it.

 

She’s got it pulled taut, like a rubber band, and maybe that’s what allows Stiles to release the tension own arms. Instead of jerking his index finger, he knocks the heavy butt of the gun against Shrader’s head, letting the man conk out on the floor. And Stiles is already prepared, his feet slamming into the man’s stomach once he’s down, because he doesn’t care about kicking someone while he’s down. Not when that someone had run his fingers all over Lydia’s body, following the trail of his malicious eyes.

 

Lydia doesn’t talk about what had happened to her in Eichen House. Not much. But when ghosts come to haunt them in the middle of the school day on a rainy Wednesday, Stiles doesn’t need words from her. The terror that she is trying too hard to keep down is just enough to tell him exactly what this man has done to Lydia. And that’s what pisses Stiles off the most.

 

There’s a body on the floor, and Stiles had put it there, and the knowledge shakes up through him until it is trembling right at his fingertips, ready to take another stab at the vulnerable body that had hurt Lydia when she was equally as defenseless. But Lydia is still pushed up against the wall, eyes fixated on the body, and when she lets her gaze drift over to Stiles, there is a moment during which he wonders if they are going to be able to stop each other.

 

Shrader stirs, and a scream begins to climb up Lydia’s throat, but Stiles shakes his head. She swallows it down only when he moves in close to her, letting his thumb press down gently on her rocketing pulse point.

 

“What are you going to do?” she whispers to him, her words coming out too laboriously. Stiles presses harder.

  
“I’m gonna get you out of here,” he says carefully. “That’s what I’m gonna do.”

 

“Stiles, he--”

 

“I know,” he says, voice breaking. “I know.”

 

“Okay.”

 

He can feel his heartbeat in his thumb, where it is pressed up against Lydia’s pulse, and that’s what makes Stiles ache the most. The way he is always, endlessly aware of her body. Always wanting to protect her and have her tear him apart at the same time. It’s this endless, agonizing conflict that has been tearing him apart for years.

 

Mostly, he just wants Lydia to make him whole again. All-the-way whole, the kind that doesn’t have to be brought back from the edge of anything. But when Stiles sees Scott running across the parking lot, the euphoria that surges up in him has to do with Lydia in every wrong way possible.

 

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” he says. “Don’t, okay?”  


Stiles’ eyes flicker from Scott’s confused face to the pavement. He nods at the asphalt once before pivoting and running all the way across the parking lot. Shrader is stirring where they left him, and Stiles helps him to his feet solely for the purpose of knocking him down again. The next few moments are feet and fists and walls, and Stiles doesn’t want to think about how many times he has drawn blood in his life because what this man has done is so much worse.

 

Scott can’t stop looking at him when he walks back out into the parking lot.

 

“We can’t let him do it again,” Stiles says, voice rough. “We can’t okay?”

  
Lydia takes two tentative steps forward before she sticks her arm out, waiting for Stiles. He sighs heavily, handing himself off to her. His knuckles are bloodied and bruised as Lydia picks them up in her pale hands and inspects them.

 

“ _Stiles_.”

  
  
He juts his chin out.

 

“I don’t care.”

 

Lydia inspects his face carefully.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

He shrugs.

  
“I don’t _care_.”

 

Scott is still staring at them, unmoving.

 

“What do we do with him?”

  
  
“Jail,” Lydia says tersely. “I’ll tell Stiles’ dad. I just… need some time.”   


They all need more time to recover than they’re ever going to get. Pretending to be normal every day is the most exhausting part of Stiles’ life. But there isn’t a single damn quick fix, except to pretend more. And then some more. And then, maybe, more.   


Lydia follows Stiles to his car without him having to ask her. She buckles herself in with fingers that are still shaking, and when she looks over at him, he can’t turn his eyes on her. Can’t see the monster from the perspective of the only person who might have the ability to bring him all the way back to who he was supposed to be. 

Then again. Lydia Martin is just a girl. She isn’t magic.

  
“Do you feel safe?”

 

Stiles voice is only so tense because he doesn’t want to hear the answer.

 

“With you?” she asks, surprised. He nods. “Always.”

  
  
“Where do you wanna go?”   


Lydia speaks clearly, her eyes not leaving his face.

  
“With you. Always.”

 

Stiles nods, almost to himself. Turns the key in his ignition. Drives as if he’s on autopilot, weaving through the streets that he and Lydia had grown up in together.

 

He has so many memories of her on the playground, the white tights and braided hair and loud, bossy voice because she was the ruler of everyone even back then. He remembers watching her get into the backseat of her parents’ car, and how in middle school, it was never her dad anymore. Always her mom. And Stiles thinks about driving along these streets with Lydia in his passenger seat, debating different opinions on dumb supernatural shit that inevitably figured itself out anyways.

 

He loves her. He does.

 

“Lydia, I lo—”

 

“Don't,” she says to the window. He stops abruptly. “I don't want to hear it, Stiles. Not now.”

 

“Why?”

 

Lydia turns to him, her smile sad.

 

“Because you still hurt. So much.”

 

His hands tighten on the wheel.

 

“When are you going to want to hear it?”

 

“I don't know.” They're silent for several moments. Stiles takes a right turn and a left turn. “Say something else.”

 

He cuts his eyes to her. Thinks about all the times she has screamed and he hasn't been able to get to her. Thinks about the fact that maybe one of those times, she had been screaming over him.

 

“I would have killed him for you,” Stiles settles on.

 

Lydia looks up, a small smile on her lips. 

 

"Stiles." She pauses, because she wants to make sure he knows she means it. "I'd kill for you too." 

 


End file.
